City 45
by Aryd
Summary: This is the story of how a man who lost everything rose from his own grave and waged war on a world that wanted him dead.
1. Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

It was hot, sizzling hot, outside in the plaza. A UNION civil protection worker stood outside the ration distribution center, with the rest of the line, which went out onto the street due to its sheer length. She was only an 04, so she desperately wanted something better to do than make sure that the citizens kept in a line, still able to roughly be classified as a "citizen in a suit". She had a hobby that she'd often partake in, which was guess how many hits a citizen would be able to take from her stun baton before succumbing to the pain and drifting into unconsciousness. She always loved beating the men. It made her feel powerful. She loved feeling powerful, more than anything else in the world.

She spotted a man, towards the back of the line. He was well built, that was for sure. In hand to hand combat, he could probably take her with ease. She nervously rubbed her stun baton, ready to grip it at a moment's notice. Despite her nervousness, she thought _Six… No, five… yeah five to the head… _She smiled under her yellowish white gasmask. She was being stupid, this guy obviously had a brain in his head, no way he'd do something to piss her off. She kept looking around and then stopped abruptly, not having to look a couple degrees to her left to see something a bit off. There was a man standing near the rusted iron bars of the garden in the middle of the plaza, the garden that contained the huge pillar, on which the broadcast screens were securely attached to. She raised an eyebrow, again her facial expressions hidden under an obviously worn down gasmask. He wore the normal, blue jumpsuit, with the number 45 printed on the left sleeve in white letters, but he wore a surgical mask. Not the old ones from before the war either, the new, "high tech" metal ones, with the filters and everything. He also wore what appeared to be a burned hiking bag. "You, get in line." the 04 unit ordered. The man merely looked up at her, a cold expression in his eyes. She unclipped her stun baton, and flicked it on. It buzzed, and vibrated in her hand and the light flashed on with an electric crack. She angrily snapped "You got hearing problem? Get in line, unless you plan on somehow starving _before_ I beat you to death." He merely began walking off. The 04 began to stride after him, raising her stun baton so that she could beat him, when he stopped. There was a scanner hovering in front of him. But instead of snapping a few pictures, then floating off, like was usual activity for scanners, it stayed there, staring intently at the man.

The 04's radio emitted a voice, causing the man to turn around and look at her. However, he did occasionally take a glance over his shoulder, at the scanner. The man, to the 04, looking concerned for the first time. She stared at the man, picking up the radio, and saying "Can you repeat that?" The voice came again, it was the female dispatch voice. " -04.89447 has been instructed by -DvL.74638 to pacify the individual in front of you." The 04 blinked, then looked up, raising her stun baton again. _4…_ she thought. _Definitely 4… _The scanner flew off as she took her first swing. The made contact with the man's shoulder, and he collapsed to the ground, in agony, letting out a quick scream. As she swung down again, the man scrambled out of the way, standing up again. She turned to face him, as his fist collided with her face. She stumbled back, letting out a grunt. "You… son of a BITCH!" She reached down, trying to take her pistol out of its holster. She looked down, as it got stuck, and felt a hand grip her shoulder. The man threw his fist into her gut three times. She wheezed, and gasped for air. She collapsed to her knees as she felt his elbow slam into the back of her neck, and her stun baton slip out of her hand. She caught a glance back at the line, at the citizens staring in horror as the man dragged her around the outside of a garden. Not all of them were shocked, a few, including the well-built man she'd spied earlier, were cheering her attacker on, as he dragged her over to one of the rusty green trashcans near the garden's entrance. The man clutched the CP's neck so hard that his knuckles turned white, forcing the woman up to her feet. He then careened the woman's head into the trashcan, once, then twice. The woman's vision was clouded with stars, and the sounds she heard were all muffled. He slammed her head into the metal garbage can a third time, and all the muffled sounds were drowned out by a large _CRACK! _The pain had stopped, and, out of the corner of her eye, she saw another CP, an 03 GRID step out of the metal sliding door to the inside of the ration distribution terminal, glaring at the citizens. "What the hell do you all think you're doing?" He saw that they were staring at something, and turned to watch what they were staring at. He managed to catch a good glimpse of the man bringing the UNION officers head down for the final time, her skull giving way, and the fabric of the hood that went up to cover the back of an officers head, the part that the mask did not cover, becoming bloody as it caved it, her head misshapen and bleeding profusely.

The man was already taking off, gliding up the stairs to the train station as the GRID unit pulled out his pistol with one hand, and his radio with the other. He frantically yelled into the radio, fire a few shots off "OFFICER DOWN, I NEED BACK UP DAMMIT!" He was grabbed by the neck. The well-built man pinned him against the wall, turned and yelling to the man who'd killed the female officer. "RUN YOU IDIOT!" The man did so, running inside, and hurtling the benches in the center of the main room, as he heard a few shots fired outside. He rounded the corner, ran through the gate, and rounded the corner after that, only to run into a CP. He scrambled back, the CP, simply staring down at him. As another CP rounded the corner at the opposite end of the hallway, and raised his SMG, the CP on the man's end raised a revolver and fired a few rounds into the other. He then looked down at the man, and simply said "Get moving." The man nodded, and got up, running down into the dark subway tunnels. He sprinted for about 1 minute, before tripping, coming dangerously close to the electrified rails as he fell. He glanced down at what he tripped over, and in the darkness, could make out the shape of a body. It had something in its hand, and he reached down to grab it. It was within a few inches of his fingertips when a shot was fired in the tunnel, the sound becoming nearly deafening as it bounced off every wall. He scrambled to his feet, seeing a group of four silhouettes in the darkness, all wielding some sort of firearm. He ran down the tunnel, which was illuminated as the CPs trained their flashlights on him. There was another shot that rang out in the tunnel, and he felt an indescribable pain in his right calf. He collapsed, trying desperately to stand, but failing. He was on his hands and knees, moving at a snail's pace when he felt a boot stomp onto his back, pressing him onto the ground. The CP above him, an 02, pressed his shotgun barrel against the back of the man's neck. He pulled up his radio, and spoke into it. "Requesting orders on what to do with the runner." A voice replied, this time one of a legitimate CP. "Amputate."

The man squirmed under the CP's boot, which he responded to by pressing harder down. He heard the pumping of a shotgun, and felt its barrel against the back of his head. He closed his eyes, waiting for death.

_Rika rika rika…_

The man's eyes opened wide, as did the CP's. They both looked back, and observed the distant lights of a train approaching. The other three CPs, all lower in rank, were standing in the holes that were hollowed out farther back in the walls of the tunnel, the ones designed for subway workers to stand in so that they wouldn't get run over by the subways. One spoke up. "Sir, I'd suggest you'd come back here. The train will take care of him." The 01 nodded "Agreed." He took his boot off the man's back, as well as removed the barrel of the gun. As he began walking back, the man scrambled up to his knees, and lunged at the CP, who was now facing the opposite direction. Supporting himself on him, the man pulled the officer's pistol out of its holster, and fired a round, point-blank, into the officer's back. The CP cried out, and collapsed to his hands and knees, while the man frantically searched for an escape route. The other three officers were about to open fire, but their commanding officer was still in the way, letting out strings of profanities as he fought with pain. The man found a grate and quickly fired the pistol at each of the rusty screws that fixed it to the ground. He pulled the grate up, and, as the officer he'd shot was getting onto his knees, and taking aim, he dropped down into the darkness below the grate.

The man fell for about 3 seconds, and landed flat on his chest. He gasped for air, but he felt like his lungs had simply disappeared. He pushed himself onto his back, just in time to see the 01 kneeling over the hole he'd tossed himself into, and trying to take aim, before the train careened into his already broken body. He wheezed again, his vision going blurry. He clutched up at the gasmasked face hovering about his, before his lungs, constricted by his own, broken ribs, succumbed, and the man went into respiratory arrest.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

The man panted, resting his hands on his knees. He glanced up at the fuse box he'd just smashed. The door next to it, which was connected to the fuse box, wouldn't be opening any time soon. The bonesaw he'd destroyed it with slipped out of his fingers. He fell over, while fumbling with it, trying to catch it but ultimately falling on his hands and knees, staring down at it. It was covered in blood. The same blood that was covering the floor of the operating room he was in. The same blood seeping out of the gaping wounds in the 3 surgeons, wearing the distinct Combine gasmasks that all CPs wore, and the 1 stalker accompanying them in the room. He began to struggle to his feet, the room began spinning. He felt his stomach trying to claw its way up into his throat, and collapsed against the wall, wheezing and coughing up bile.

He couldn't quite recall how long he sat there, trying to prepare himself to stand up again. A voice pierced the ringing in his ears, and made him jump. It was the deep, distorted voice of a CP, and it came from a small, grey box near the fuse box. "Medical Cell 4-B, state your status."

The man just stared at the box. He wanted to respond, to claim everything was alright, to at least trying to avoid the room being swarmed with CPs who would most definitely kill him, but his entire body felt numb. He just stared at the box, which asked for the second and last time for someone to report the status of the people in the operating room. The box had a large, red, rectangular button near the bottom edge of the front face of it. One of the surgeons had pressed it when the man had awoke during his surgery, and began attacking everyone in the room. As the man glanced at the body of that surgeon, laying on the ground in front of the box in a pool of blood, he climbed up to his feet, using the operating table as support. The grey box emitted a small click. The man knew that he only had so much time to escape.

The first thing he noticed was a small, black squared on the wall. The coloring looked like it had been painted on. There appeared to be small levers on it, but they were locked in place with padlocks. The black square was a window that had been painted over. The man let out a sigh. He knew his escape route now. But he couldn't exactly run out into the street in a surgical gown. He glanced around the room again. It had a closet, which he quickly opened up. He found multiple blue citizen jumpsuits all with the faded white number "45" emblazoned on the right arm. He grabbed one and began to remove the surgical gown.

Then he noticed something. The surgical gown was covered in blood. Well, it did have the blood of the surgeons on it, but there was something else, a distinct, thick trail of blood that seemed to be coming from his face. Slowly, he reached up to touch his face…

He recoiled, stepping back in pain. He let out a quick, pained yelp. His mouth stung incredibly upon being touched. But there had been something off about it. He wasn't about to touch his mouth again, and he was about to just ignore it, until he began to wash off his hand in the sink. There was a jar in the sink. The contents were mainly a cloudy liquid, red colored, like blood, but there was something floating in it. He reached into the sink, grabbed the jar, and opened it up. He was scared. What if they had cut something out of him? He need to know if he was missing anything vital.

He slowly reached it and wrapping his hand around it. It definitely wasn't an organ. It had hard bits in it, and the shape these hard bits were attached was rigid, and definite in its shape. But there was a mushy, floppy bit on the end. He pulled it out of the jar. He was not ready for what he saw.

He held in his hand his own lower jaw, his tongue still attached to the back.

His hands trembled furiously, and he dropped it on the counter. He couldn't hold back the vomit this time. With no lower jaw to direct the puke out and over the counter, it gurgled out of his throat and down his chest. He felt feint, the room began spinning again, and he gripped the counter, now slippery with his blood. He stumbled over to the closet, grabbing some clothes with his shaky hand, a look of horror on his face. He tried to forget what he just saw, but he couldn't get the image out of his head. The clothes were loose on him, but he could work with them. He stumbled back over to the operating table. He stared down at its metal surface for the longest time. He yelled out, and slammed his fist against the table, like a fussy child. Tears were streaming down his face. It was all so surreal. This couldn't be happening. It just couldn't. He'd never be able to talk again. Nobody he knew would ever recognize him again. What had he done to deserve this? His fucking mouth was gone! Never to be seen again, at least not in its rightful place.

The banging on the metal door snapped the man out of his trance. There was yelling on the other side. The CPs had finally arrived at the door. They couldn't get it open, due to the smashed fuse box. The man's grief was replaced with anger. Maybe it was his hysterical state of mind, but he would not let himself die here, sobbing in a puddle of blood. He ran over to the closet, and searched for a backpack, or something he could use to hide the bone saw. He found a small, drawstring backpack, which would do for now. He dropped the bone saw in. And scoured for anything else he might need. He saw a file on the counter. He picked it up and glanced at the first paper inside.

**Sweepdog Alpha-Rust **was the title of the document. It showed a picture, apparently computer generated, of a humanoid body. It didn't have a lower jaw. That was all the man needed to see. He shoved the file in the back pack.

The high pitched sounds of lasers beginning to cut through the giant metal door alerted him to the short amount of time he had left to search for things he could use. He began frantically ripping open the drawers. He didn't find much, just surgical equipment. Then he found a surgical mask, one of the techy, metal combine ones, in a drawer, along with some bandages. He'd almost forgotten that other people would see his lack of a jaw. He grabbed the bandages, and applied them to where his jaw would have been, struggling not to scream in agony, then put on the mask. He felt it clinging to his face as a small, orange glowing hole began to appear in the metal door.

The man ran to the window, and slammed his elbow against it. Nothing. He did it again. This time, he heard a cracking sound. He did it a third and final time, and the window shattered. The CP voices were growing louder as the door began to fall apart. The man climbed out the window, onto a roof. He ran as fast as he could, keeping low so that people down on the streets wouldn't see him. He was about a story off the ground. Finally, he found a drainage pipe, which let down into an alley. He looked down to make sure that nobody was looking, and slid into the dark, unwelcoming streets below.


End file.
